Bruce
by Boogie-Down
Summary: The mutilated man stared hard at his reflection. He accidentally caught it gleaming out of the corner of his eye. He turned the cleaver which served as his weapon slightly sideways in his grip. No matter what angle his reflection took the image remained the same. The gruesome face which greeted him was a nightmare manifested into the waking world.
1. The Mutilated Man

Two years after the fact huh? I wanted this to be an actual full length story not just a one shot and then I abandoned it. I still want to take a crack at this paring. So I'm fixing the first chapter and going to make an attempt at actually making this go somewhere. It's not going to be a lot of changes to the first chapter but you know I'm cleaning up the writing as I see fit. I mean two years includes two years of growing as a writer right? So hold on to your butts. For the record I'm going to try to keep things in character but this will be my take on their relationship and my style of writing horror so you know it's a fanfic…

BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS

The mutilated man stared hard at his reflection. He accidentally caught it gleaming out of the corner of his eye.

He had turned the cleaver which served as his weapon slightly sideways in his grip. No matter what angle his reflection took the image remained the same.

The gruesome face which greeted him was a nightmare manifested into the waking world.

Altogether the picture was a kaleidoscope of colors- red, green, white, gray, yellow and brown; it was a perfect picture of violence or 'sickness' depending on who beheld it.

The red came from his exposed muscles. The other mixture of colors belonged to his rotting skin, although these days his flesh was more yellow and brown in tone than anything else.

The putrid flesh belonged to a walking almost corpse. He tore his own face off some time ago. It was necessary for the mutilated man.

He had started to remember things. A different life began to flash behind his coronaries. At first the images only appeared in his dreams.

As time went on they started to haunt him in his waking hours. He didn't like the memories. The remembrances hurt and frightened him.

They were cohesion in the middle of his finely crafted senselessness. The mutilated man thought he had a grip on his emotions.

He had been wrong about them after all. Those feelings needed to be destroyed. He came to the conclusion he needed to start over.

So with deadly resolve he took a piece of jagged glass and cut his own face off. He had gone through a rebirth once before.

Now by his own hand he was resurrected again. With every twisted cut he severed his ties with those vile emotions. He no longer had the visions. He no longer felt any physical pain.

He had transcended. He was now finally the monster he was always meant to be. Yet despite his new level of awareness he somehow he ended up reuniting with his lost face.

He surmised it had a lot to do with his vanity. After all, he just wasn't himself without a smile. He took back his preserved flesh the police kept on ice for him.

Although he had reunited with his famous grin it had gotten a lot harder to keep the loose facade.

He was forced to smear his decayed flesh over the raw facial muscles. He held it in place with some crude staples, wire and a leather strap bound around the back of his head.

His face was now nothing more than a grotesque mask, a horrific impersonation of what it once was.

But at the end of the day it was still his face and he happily embraced his new mien. He would wear the mask until it completely disintegrated.

He would figure out what to do for a face when the time came. The mutilated man tore his bizarre green eyes away from his weapon.

He ran a ghostly hand through his green hair. A family sat at a kitchen table before him. There was a mommy, a daddy and a quiet infant.

The couple seated mere feet away were not restrained in their chairs.

Neither moved and if he hadn't seen the shallow rise and fall of their chests they would have passed as mannequins on display.

The little baby boy was lying on the table. The mutilated man had spread him on top of a large white platter cut into portions.

The head was severed, as well as his arms and legs. The mutilated man had carved the boy's torso in half to display his tiny organs.

There was blood everywhere. The infant's corpse rested in a soppy pool of his coagulating fluids. The blood also stained the table underneath the platter.

The mutilated man's hands didn't work like they used to. The platter was heavy. His arms quivered the entire time he moved it to the table which caused it to spill.

He left behind a trail that led to the table from the countertop where he carved the infant. The child's fluids still oozed down the sides of the cabinetry.

It was thick arterial blood, quite a rich burgundy color. The couple who were seated at the table continued to sit motionless. They both stared at nothing in particular.

They didn't budge as the mutilated man removed pieces of the dead child from the platter. They had plates before them.

The mutilated man placed a leg on daddy's plate while mommy received an arm. He grabbed a pitcher full of orange juice off the table next. He carefully poured them each a drink.

His wired grin never faltered as he set the pitcher down and seated himself into an empty chair between the couple.

He leaned back in his seat. "Eat up, breakfast is the most important meal of the day you know. You should have some. I slaved away all morning to make it for you."

The mutilated man's words didn't sound right as he spoke them. He no longer had any lips so his words were a garbled mix of lisps and over-pronunciations.

Mommy finally moved. She turned her head towards the mutilated man with tears in her eyes.

She was a lovely woman with bright blue peepers and curly blonde hair; the modest nightgown she wore couldn't hide the blossoming figure underneath.

She was sitting partially on the fabric so it pulled tight against her curves. Her body didn't hold much interest for mutilated man. He wasn't here for any sexual empowerment.

He never killed for something as trivial as that. Mommy's tears were silent ones. She was too shocked, to horrified, to over worked to scream.

Her brain had shut down to protect itself from going mad but the mutilated man embodied psychosis. Madness was one of the only consistent things in his entire life.

He delighted in sharing his insanity with anyone he could. He tried to give it many times over the years to different folks. A favorite instance once involved an obnoxious police officer.

He shot the man's daughter (later on learning he paralyzed her much to his delight) then took photos of her shamed body.

Oh how wonderful it was to watch the officer's mind unravel as the mutilated man forced him to look at those pictures!

He pushed the bewildered father to his absolute limits. It almost worked too then _he _showed up. _He,_ ironically, was the reason for this new tryst.

Part of this morbid breakfast was for a few laughs because well, it's how the mutilated man did things.

The deeper part was to punish _him_. The time with the cop was for a point. He wanted to prove he could break a man in one day.

This time he wanted to destroy a family as reprimand for _his_ absence. He only wanted one message to get across through this act. He was pissed.

No he was more than pissed he was outright livid. Mommy's lips moved. The mutilated man was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't hear her speak at first.

He pulled from his musings so he could listen to her.

"Why?" she asked. "Why did you do this to us? What did we do to you?"

The mutilated man grabbed his chair then scooted it closer so he sat right next to mommy. With his free hand he grabbed hers she kept folded in her lap.

"Well it's a long and funny story..." He began.

Mommy crinkled her nose. He had a distinct odor surrounding him. Her nostrils flared at the vile stench invading her at his closeness.

He smelled like the time her husband threw away some chicken parts. The meat had soured in her garbage. It took days to get the smell out of her kitchen.

His hot breath didn't help either. The exposed teeth in his sick head were a dingy yellow. His molars were actually closer to black in color. He didn't care for his teeth.

His rank breath smelled like bile. It blended with the sour stench of his body and dirty clothes. She fought the urge to throw up.

"Yeah it' really funny actually get this. I didn't pick you out in particular. I wanted to kill a family. I happened to see you two taking a walk with junior in the park yesterday. I thought about how lovely you both looked as a couple. You're both so young, so full of life, so radiant I could see you had a bright future. I was even a little jealous. Anyway, I randomly picked you. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time nothing more or less."

He released her hands and stood up toppling his chair in the process. Mommy flinched. Daddy who was his new target didn't stand a chance. The mutilated man outstretched his cleaver.

He ran over to daddy. The man barely had enough time to raise his arms to try to defend himself. The cleaver came down for his head.

In a measure of uncountable beats daddy's face disappeared right before the mutilated man's eyes. With each swipe he destroyed a little more of his face.

Soon enough Daddy no longer carried any distinct recognizable features. Most of his head had caved in from the assault. What remained was a gaping hole with part of a tongue rolling inside.

Daddy's corpse slid down the chair. The mutilated man had left his weapon lodged into what remained of his face. The mutilated man reached into his jacket. He produced a pistol.

He turned back to mommy; a true picture of gore now. Daddy's juices covered most of his upper body. It soaked into his skin and dingy purple suit. Mommy found her voice. She was screaming.

Her husband's killer let the noise wash over him. He had no eyelids so he couldn't close his eyes. It didn't allow him to bask in the glorious noise properly. He came as close as he possible.

He learned to shut his mind off on command long ago. He partially did it now so he could savor the aftermath of a satisfying kill. He needed this more than he realized.

Wild thoughts had crept up on him again. These imaginings were not the same ones which prompted him before.

Here he was so sure he erased his humanity and still this terrible thing stayed inside him. He relished the spilt blood for a couple solid minutes before he came back to reality.

He placed the gun on the table. He yelled over mommy to get her attention. Mommy was slumped over the table bawling.

The mutilated man could only see the back of her head moving to and fro across the tabletop. Her hands were entangled in her hair. She had pulled sizable chunks of it out.

The missing hairs were coiled around her fingers as she continued to wail. She had finally succumbed to her madness. For a brief moment the mutilated man knew he wasn't alone.

It felt good for he was afflicted with an onslaught of loneliness. It had driven him to this point.

"Listen to me!" he barked.

Mommy's wailing grew softer. She still carried on with her breakdown. She lowered her voice enough so she could hear him.

"There's a gun on the table with a single bullet. It's up to you what you do with that bullet, you can kill yourself or not it's your choice. Whatever you do I suggest you do it quickly."

He made his way over to the kitchen phone hanging on the wall by the doorway.

"I'm calling the police. They're going to be here soon. Now I've given you a choice. Whatever you decide you have to wait until after you relay my message. If you don't tell the cops what I say I will kill the rest of your family understand? I will make it my life's goal to hunt down your parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, uncles, aunts-hell I'll take close friends and family pets. I will destroy them all. You know my word is good as crazy as it is."

Mommy raised her head. She didn't lift her body up so she observed him from a funny angle. Her eyes carried a haunted look.

She barely heard what he said through the haze in her gray matter. He only needed to see a little coherency in her eyes.

He observed the faint glimmer of understanding buried inside her. He knew she would obey.

"When the cops come I want you to tell them this. Tell them _he_ better show up next time or I'm going to have to get serious. If he thought the lovely children of Gotham weren't safe now he is sadly mistaken. I can become the boogeyman. It's not a hard thing to do, I'm halfway there already."

The mutilated man waved his hands around while he spoke. He had gotten angrier while he voiced his frustration.

"You're talking about Batman." Mommy interrupted his speech.

The mutilated man gasped. "How astute, you're too smart for your own good mommy. _He's_ the real punch line to this sick joke you know. If my sweet little flying rodent would finish what he started then people wouldn't have to die. Your family would be all snuggled cozy and safe right now."

The mutilated man lifted the phone receiver. He paused again before he dialed.

"I have every right you know. How would you feel if the one you loved stopped coming to your calls? What if they abandoned you and left you with only yourself as company? You'd get angry too wouldn't you?"

Where were these words coming from? He didn't need to justify his reasons. Why did he feel so guilty? Why did he care? He started laughing then. It bubbled from somewhere deep in his guts.

His merriment started out small then grew in passion. It echoed around the kitchen. It carried through his phone call to the police. The operator who took the call listened to the laughter.

He heard it several times before so he didn't ask any questions.

He sent the officers to the residence when the laughing man on the other end stopped long enough to tell him where they needed to go.

The laughing didn't stop as the mutilated man dipped his fingers in the blood that surrounded him. He drew crude outlines of bats with his nasty self-made finger paint.

Mommy could still hear his laughter when the police barreled through her front door. She moved before they entered her kitchen. She placed the platter in her lap.

She had the gun pressed against her temple. She told them what happened. She also made sure to relay her attacker's message. The officers tried to coax her to put the gun down.

She wouldn't do what they asked. This was her choice. The mutilated man was merciful enough to give her one. She knew what she had to do to ease her pain.

Her life wasn't worth anything now. The two reasons for her to get out of bed were gone. She wanted to go with them.

She couldn't bear to be away from them the rest of her life. She pulled the trigger. Mommy's brains and skull matter exploded through the fresh hole as the bullet exited her head.

Her body fell sideways. The platter went along with her. It shattered on the floor. The baby's head rolled across the tile towards an officer's foot.

The officer was new at his job. He had to excuse himself from the kitchen. He didn't make it outside. He threw up his breakfast on the living room floor.

The other more seasoned force members didn't get sick, but even the toughest officers had to take a break from the crime scene on this day.

BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS

Dick watched the news unfold on Bruce's television. He was the one who originally informed the older man of what was going on.

He was the one primarily filling in the gaps Bruce's absence created. His mentor no longer prowled the streets at night. Dick's assumed identity protected Gotham now.

He called himself Nightwing. He was once Bruce's sidekick back in the day. Back then they called him Robin. Those days were over now.

Now he was an adult who could have easily given up being a 'hero'. He found he couldn't put Nightwing away. Bruce planted something powerful in him.

His sense of obligation far succeeded his own needs. He was willing to fight and die for countless people he would never meet. He wouldn't turn his back to their plight.

Somebody had to protect those who couldn't defend themselves. Dick realized a long time ago Bruce wouldn't live forever. He needed someone to carry out his rather impressive legacy.

Dick wasn't the only one Bruce had mentored. There were plenty of others. Somehow over the years they bonded with one another. Many people called them a family.

Dick agreed with those people. He did have quite the strange family. They kept Bruce's vision alive.

On his end, it hit Dick on a personal level more than merely continuing one man's sense of justice. He had his own merit to prove to the world.

He wanted to elevate Bruce's ideas and solidify his own identity as someone who made a difference. He had a tall order to fill. He stole a quick glance over to Bruce.

The man sat on the couch with a grim look on his face. Dick could only guess what Bruce felt in right now. At the current moment he sensed Bruce's anger.

The news they were watching made Dick feel sick to his stomach.

"The message was a threat by the Joker. If Batman doesn't make an appearance soon he claims he will be forced to get serious. He's going after all of Gotham's children."

The reporter grew quiet for a moment as she listened to something on her headset. For a split second her trained indifference faltered.

She was a new girl who replaced the famous Vicky Vale. Vicky died several months ago in her sleep due to a brain aneurysm. It devastated the local news station.

Vicky was still their shining star despite her age. The new girl whose name Dick couldn't remember to save his life, still had a long way to go as far as controlling her emotions went.

She would learn quickly enough. Gotham was a place of tragedy. Despite its horrendous reputation it was home and Dicked loved it.

No matter how much he loved it though it didn't change how terrible most of the inhabitants were. Gotham's notoriety had spread across the world.

Dick didn't know what made this place so attractive to bad people. It produced some of the most vicious criminals who were feared among other murderers and the like.

The man responsible for this grim morning they nicknamed the Joker. He was a monster among the monsters. He also happened to be Bruce's greatest foe and ultimate failure.

Everyone in their family knew how Bruce lamented his decisions when it came to the psychopath. He blamed himself for his crimes.

Dick didn't know how to feel when it came to Joker. The man committed many atrocious acts.

The solution most people came up with was hope Batman, Bruce's alter ego, would finally snap and kill him. His death would end his hold over the city.

Bruce entertained the idea numerous times and somehow through the years he managed not to defile his hands with the man's blood. Bruce didn't believe in killing.

He outright refused it though most of the city's criminals deserved to be executed. Dick had a hard time sorting through his feelings as he could see both points of view.

He decided for him personally to let Bruce do what he wanted as the best course of action when it came to Gotham's underbelly. Dick never killed anyone either.

He couldn't wrap his mind around taking another life with his own hands. It wasn't fair to hope Bruce would do what he was too afraid to commit himself.

"I'm getting word right now a child's body has just been." The reporter covered her mouth for a moment to hide her surprise. She snapped out of her shock seconds later. "A boy fell to his death downtown. There was a note left behind in the apartment complex where the boy lived. It was a joke."

She paused to listen to the voices in her ear some more. "Batman, what do you call a sad bird? It's a blue bird."

Bruce nearly leapt off of the couch. Dick rushed over to him when he saw his mentor rise.

"I have to go Dick. This has gone too far. I know he's killed children before, not like this though. It's never been this personal. We both know he directly threatened you with that joke."

Nightwing's suit he wore to hide his real identity was saturated blue in color. It also had a picture of a bird on his chest piece. Dick took the old Robin identity and altered to fit his adult needs.

"I probably pissed him off all over again when I arrived at the crime scene this morning instead of you." Dick said.

Bruce reached for his cane he was forced to use most days. Dick touched Bruce's shoulder. Bruce smacked his hand away.

Dick reached out again. He gave an affirmative squeeze on the older man's shoulder this time. He didn't want to argue with his mentor. He would if Bruce forced him though.

Bruce was in no condition to fight. He was still recovering from a near fatal injury. His wounds were what kept him from going out. Bruce fell victim to gunfire.

The bullet ricocheted off a wall and struck him close to the spine. He was both lucky and not. It didn't kill him. The bullet remained in his body though.

Any attempts to dislodge it could paralyze him or cause him to bleed out. The doctors made it clear he needed to watch what he did.

He might accidentally cause it slip into his spinal column anyway. He also would have to deal with a tremendous amount of pain for the rest of his life.

Dick knew Bruce would die in a matter of days if he went out as Batman now.

"Hold on Bruce. You can't. I'm sorry. Have you forgot about why you aren't out there right now? It's too dangerous he'll kill you."

Bruce slapped his hand away a second time. After he did this his back seized on him. He was already having a bad day with his pain levels.

The added stress along with the sudden movements didn't help him. He inhaled sharply as the dull ache changed form.

It blossomed into an acute burning sensation that coursed down his entire back into both of his legs. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

His breathing grew shallow. He knew he couldn't will the pain away, however he did have ideas on how to ignore the agony.

The reporter's voice filled the silence between the two men. "Is Batman dead? Did he leave? Why haven't we seen him in almost a year? There are countless rumors floating around but it seems nobody can come up with a clear answer. Commissioner Gordon claims he knows nothing despite his close affiliation with the vigilante. Nightwing seems to be filling in for the empty cowl the most. We've seen other members of the 'bat family' as they are so fondly called out flying through the Gotham skyline. We've no luck in getting close enough to speak with any them. We can't get definitive answers. All I can say is this, if Batman is watching we hope he will come forward and end this senseless violence to our children."

Bruce managed to wrap his mind around his pain. He opened his ocean blue eyes. On his flat screen in high definition glory Joker smiled at him.

Joker looked right into Bruce's eyes through his television. Why did a mere picture make Bruce feel like the man was actually poking around in his mind?

Bruce could have sworn for a second the picture sprang to life. Joker jumped out of the television. He stood in the living room.

He figured out Bruce's true identity and he had come for him. His ugly smile grew wider. This time he knew one of them wouldn't walk away from this encounter.

Bruce shook his head. Joker sat behind his television screen where he belonged. In the photo Joker was exactly the same as Bruce remembered him, almost.

He still had his ridiculous lime green hair, paper white skin and outstretched smile. The man in the picture had endured a lot of depraved years. He had gotten old same as Bruce.

Long ago his face was as youthful as it was psychotic. Time had caught them both. In the picture Joker's skin had lost a good deal of its elasticity. His face was pocket marked.

He had large crow's feet in the corners of his eyes along with permanent wrinkles on his forehead and around the stretched grin.

There were several lacerations along his face besides his cheek scars. One in particular ran his forehead to his upper lip.

The nasty eye wound came from Bruce. They were struggling with a knife when it happened. Bruce bent the psychopath's hand back a little too far.

He accidentally caused the man to cut his own face. It didn't faze Joker one bit. If anything it pleased the man to no end. He had no problems expressing how happy the scar made him.

There were several occasions where he praised Bruce for his handiwork. He tried to get Bruce to do it again many times. Bruce wondered what he looked like now.

He hadn't seen Joker in person for close to two years. The man escaped from the Arkham Asylum almost immediately after the leering picture was taken.

He disappeared for one blissful year. He emerged back on the scene around six months ago. Bruce backtracked a bit in his memories. Joker cut his face off before he left the first year.

When the man resurfaced he reclaimed his face. He broke into the police department then stole the preserved flesh they were keeping.

Bruce couldn't believe it when he heard about the man cutting his own face off. It was true though. Bruce observed the skin with his own eyes.

He remembered the dread he felt when he saw what Joker left behind. His enemy descended into a level of darkness not even his alter ego Batman wanted to chase after.

He knew it was the beginning of the end for them. Bruce also reminisced on the way the man started behaving before his terrible self-mutilation.

Joker's attacks grew increasingly violent those days. Some of his actions got sloppy. Joker was never careless. He had a disturbing level of precision when it came to the destruction he caused.

Something had changed in him way before his disappearance. Bruce knew he had contributed this. Joker started saying odd things which threw him for a new whirlwind of bullshit.

He started talking about the old days more often. He told Bruce in detail his memories of their early encounters. He had brought them up before.

His more recent go at those stories were more affectionate in tone this time around. He praised Batman. He took to calling him handsome as a sort of pet name.

The final crack in Bruce's carefully placed guard was when he said he loved Batman. Bruce had physically drawn away from Joker upon hearing those words. Joker didn't love anybody.

He wasn't capable of such things. If one looked in the dictionary for the word sociopath Joker's ugly face belonged next to the definition.

After he told Batman he loved him Joker started going out of his way to touch Bruce. He gave him little presents here and there.

One time he picked a handful of flowers and playfully bent on one knee to give them to Batman. Bruce struck the offering out of the man's hand.

Joker didn't like his gifts being rejected. The next time they fought after the incident Joker offered him a real dead bat instead.

The animal was in an advanced state of decay when Bruce received it. Bruce realized Joker might have managed to trick himself into believing his own illogical mindset.

He seemed genuinely hurt from Batman's blatant rejection. The crueler he acted towards Joker when it came to his presents the grosser his gifts became as some form of passive retaliation.

Bruce didn't think for a second the psychopath felt real love for him. He believed Joker had based his obsession with him in false idolism.

He had made Joker. Bruce would die with this sorrow. He couldn't make it in time to stop him from falling into a vat of chemicals.

Neither of them knew the man who died in the poisonous mixture. Joker always said Batman caused his rebirth. Bruce believed the twisted worship began at this point.

Bruce knew the man committed some of his murders to honor Batman in an ironic way. He never considered Joker to view him as a potential lover.

When his opinion changed it terrified Bruce. He knew how Joker treated his lovers; a fate he considered worse than death.

Harley, the man's longtime girlfriend or partner or toy proved it. He destroyed the poor woman from the inside and out. Bruce sighed. He had a dense heart.

He sometimes wanted to let his death come. It would be easier than continuing to shoulder the burdens he carried.

He thought many nights about how he wanted to reunite with his deceased parents and all the friends and lovers he lost during his time as Batman.

He couldn't give up though. As long as he drew breath he didn't have the option to give up. He couldn't let Joker win. Nobody knew how to handle like him Bruce did.

Bruce was the only one who understood him for the most part. He needed to stay in order to protect anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with him.

"Bruce are you ok? You look pale." Dick rubbed the back of his neck.

Bruce almost never displayed weakness in front of people. This was one of those rare moments he dropped his immense wall. Dick saw the pain skim across the man's face.

It made him uncomfortable. He could do nothing for Bruce. If he tried to console Bruce he would get chastised. If he remained quiet he would feel guilty.

He worried for his mentor. He loved the man. Joker got under Bruce's skin. Dick knew about the freak's obsession with Batman.

As the years wore on he began to vigorously express it. Dick would never say what he thought aloud. He believed Bruce had secret. He liked the attention.

He might have felt similar warped feelings. It didn't change how Dick cared for Bruce. How could he not develop some sort of dependency on the other male?

Joker had years to chip away at Bruce. He had a talent for manipulating people and he worshipped Bruce the most. He knew what to say to get under Bruce's skin.

How could his mentor not get his views twisted around with such a constant barrage of garbage getting thrown in his face? Dick was thankful the man held on to his sensibilities.

He didn't worry about Bruce getting charmed to go to the other side. Bruce experienced plenty of real affection in his life to keep him grounded. He had genuine love through his family.

"Dick I have to go. He wants me. I've sat around doing nothing for almost an entire year. I've let you and the others handle things. You've done a wonderful job so far. This is different Dick. You know why. Joker is capable of anything. These new murders are my fault. I have to make it right. I have to stop this."

"I understand what you're feeling. I've watched you struggle with him for a long time. You'll never listen to me when I say this isn't your fault. Here's what I will say. Forget Batman for a second I'm talking to Bruce. I understand you wouldn't think twice about sacrificing yourself. You have to stop and consider this though. What would it achieve? If you died and he didn't would it make him stop?"

Bruce sighed. "I don't know but I have to try…something. These killings are only going to escalate until he gets his way. He had left clues in previous cases and now he's making threats. He is at the limit of his patience."

Dick fought the urge to grab the man. He wanted to shake him. "You can't give in to him. You're stronger than he is. You've trained us well. We've fought him enough to know what he's capable of. We can take care of this. Let me take care of this."

Dick patted himself on the chest to emphasize his words. "If we have to we'll enlist everyone to help. I'll reach to outsiders if I must. I'm sure Selina will help for example. If I have to stretch it I'll call the Justice League. I'll bring Superman here."

Bruce pursed his lips. Dick saw the reaction and commented "Don't look at me like that. I know you two are close friends. You have spent plenty of your free time with him. Bruce please, give us a chance to prove to you we can do this. Besides what would Alfred say?"

Bruce almost backhanded the younger male in the face. He played this card when they disagreed on something now.

He had gotten sick of his second father getting thrown in his face as ammunition. He knew if Alfred were still alive he would get torn between support and worry.

He also would do whatever in his power to protect Bruce. He more than likely would try to stop Bruce from throwing himself at Joker.

It didn't mean Dick had to use the man in fights to get the upper hand. Bruce started to walk away from Dick. The burning in his spine coursed through his body.

"Where are you going?" Dick asked.

"I'm taking my medicine then I'm going to lay down. I'm not in the mood to argue. Go out there and look for him. Promise me you'll call me before you make a move. Dick I mean it, can you do that for me?"

Dick crossed his arms. He glared at the image on the television. They replaced Joker's face with footage of the downtown crime scene. They were interviewing the police commissioner.

Gordon seemed as disinterested as Dick on his interview. The nearly retired commissioner spoke in a monotone fashion.

He said the same rehashed phrases to keep the general public calm.

"I'm glad you're finally listening to us Bruce. Thank you, it makes me feel better. I love you, you know it. I don't care if you resent me for saying it. Sometimes I wish I said it more when I was younger."

Bruce motioned for the younger man to stop talking. "I'm glad one of us gets to feel better." He answered dryly.

BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS

I still think Joker ripping his own face off was incredibly badass. Anyway I thought it'd be fun to write about a character whose face is literally rotting off. Imagine having sexy time with it for a second. Mmmmm delicious…seriously though, Joker without his face looks like he belongs in all of the Japanese horror games.

You know now that its two years after the fact and I've played Arkham Knight Scarecrow has officially become my bae. Hot damn is he sexy in that game. I'd be a much fatter and wheezier Harley for him…I'd roll in the hay with him...get it? He's a scarecrow? BARN JOKES! I brought my A game here.

Anyway like the comedian Ron White once said "If you hold a woman wearing a seashell bikini up close to your ear you can hear her scream."


	2. Bombs Away

Miranda pulled a carton of milk out of the refrigerator. She twisted the cap off and took several large swigs. When she slaked her thirst she made a generous smack noise with her lips.

She stood motionless for a moment caught up in thoughts of what she needed to get done on her day off tomorrow.

She needed to go to the bank and go grocery shopping since they were getting low on a few things including milk now. She also wanted to get the kids some new clothing.

Fall was in full swing. They needed new winter attire. Her parents had also invited her and the kids to their house for dinner.

It'd been sometime since her folks got to see their grandchildren. Miranda was a busy single mother with twin girls.

She didn't have a lot of opportunity to do much other than work or spend time with her kids.

It was hard being a single mother. The girls' father left the moment she told him she was pregnant, the bastard. Miranda already dealt with those feelings years ago.

Her babies were going on four now. They were her entire world. She didn't worry about past events or people. Nothing was more important to her than her children.

She treated the outside world as an afterthought. She wouldn't trade her girls for anything.

She had happiness which made up for the times she felt overwhelmed.

She could handle anything life threw at her as long as she had them. Miranda decided to finish off the milk since the container had barely enough left for a few mouthfuls.

She didn't notice the man approaching her from behind. The mutilated man who people knew as the Joker looped the vacuum cord in his hands. He got to know Miranda over the last few hours.

He snuck in through the back door earlier in the evening. The woman was so caught up in chasing after her kids she left the door open long enough for him to slip in undetected.

He planned on breaking in either way. He couldn't pass the easy opportunity. He hid in the utility closet where he watched her since.

He could have attacked earlier but he didn't want the woman to make a lot of noise so he waited for his chance to strike.

She lived in a tight suburb. Her neighbors would hear her if she screamed loud enough. He didn't need interruptions. The vacuum kept him company in the closet while he waited.

He cut the cleaning product's cord with a pocket blade he always carried on his person.

_What was that smell? _

Miranda closed the refrigerator. A horrid odor had invaded her senses. Where had it come from? Just moments ago things were fine. She was a nurse so she was used to terrible odors.

This powerful wave nauseated her. Her skin broke out into gooseflesh. It made her think about dead bodies, specifically patients she took care of who didn't make it.

She started to look behind her to try to figure out where the onslaught originated from. She gaped at the quiet nightmare approaching her. The empty container of milk fell from her hands.

Joker wrapped the cord around her throat and pulled. Miranda tried to fight back. She grabbed the thing around her neck blocking her airways. She couldn't get it to loosen.

She made several barely audible whines. Her head began pounding. The world started to spin. A fine line of spit dribbled down her chin.

"I'm dying." she thought wildly. "Oh God I'm dying! Help me!"

The woman slid to her knees. Joker went with her to the floor to keep his hold. She reached back and dug her nails into something soft. It didn't make anything stop.

The mother's eyes rolled up. Their capillaries burst from the pressure. The cord around her neck buried into her throat.

She was turning funny colors and if he didn't worry her daughters might hear he would have laughed. It took another minute before her struggling calmed. Miranda's hands fell to her sides.

Joker held fast to her. He laid her down on the kitchen tile. He didn't release his hold until her body went completely slack. When he was confident she had truly died did he let go.

Miranda's lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. They bulged in their sockets. Her tongue rolled out of her mouth and covered her bottom lip. Her throat still had the cord looped around it.

Her face had swelled and darkened from the lack of oxygen and damaged tissue. She had elegant bruising going on around her constricted throat well into her chest and upper shoulders.

Miranda was beautiful in her moment of death. Joker treasured the violence etched into each broken blood vessel.

He stood on unstable legs. He went to a nearby countertop. It had a wire basket of various fruits. He picked up an apple and attempted to eat it. He tossed the inedible fruit at the dead woman.

He couldn't get a grip on with his mouth. Having no lips was hard. He didn't realize they acted as a gripping mechanism for food. Big objects that offered resistance were impossible to eat.

The few scrapings of skin he managed to get with his teeth were too small to call bites. Joker walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs.

When he made it to the top he pushed onward towards where he assumed the bedrooms were.

He knew about the girls' presence upstairs because he listened to the chaos associated with getting children ready for bed earlier.

Miranda's daughters had no idea of the killer who sought them.

BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS

Bruce held one of Joker's henchmen in a headlock; another brainwashed lunatic slathered in greasy face paint. Joker associated with clowns.

His followers wore makeup and dressed in outlandish clothing to honor him. After all of this time Bruce was still taken back by how many people supported Joker.

In the early days he could see why the lunatic appealed to certain crowds. He represented anarchy in its purest form.

This fact alone solidified his popularity with anyone who felt need to fight the system. The younger generations with capable bodies were enthralled with him.

Many wayward youths flocked to his call. They liked how he gave the finger to what they felt was corrupt authority. In their defense Batman agreed with those notions.

He went far enough in his own personal life to pick up an identity because of his dissatisfaction with the system. The judicial system in Gotham were mostly corrupt when he started out.

They took bribes and cut deals with scum. It allowed criminal activity to skyrocket so they could get fat bank accounts.

These were the very men and women who swore to uphold justice for Gotham's inhabitants.

Many thought Joker was a natural product of the city's inadequacies.

He forced those in charge to face their own demons. He never took money, in fact he burned most of the green he came across.

The kids back then viewed him as a misunderstood hero. The more apathetic notion a few isolated groups took on believed they followed the lesser of two evils.

The old adage of joining an enemy you couldn't beat became their mantra. Over the years Joker got worse not better.

He proved to Gotham he had no intention to tear the system down and then rebuild it. He wanted destroy anything and everyone. Why did so many still accept this behavior?

No matter many people Joker killed he always had a fanatic right around the corner to pick up arms for him. There were countless gangs still sprouting up which derived inspiration from him.

A good blend of regular people who didn't assault each other adored him too. They were worse than the criminals.

They ornamented themselves in tattoos and spoke of the man as if he were a savior to this day.

They acted like if Joker met them he wouldn't do something terrible on the account of decorating themselves in his image.

Bruce would never understand what those people were thinking. The thug dropped his crowbar. His face had gone red. He tried hard not to pass out due to Bruce's ministrations.

Bruce released him once he succumbed to the lack of oxygen. He hunted for the lunatic now. His search led him to a warehouse on the docks.

He had to find a little girl Joker kidnapped hours before. He strangled her mother to death with a vacuum cord then drowned her sister in their bathtub soon after.

Bruce decided to secretly go out alone after him. This was the final straw. He was done allowing this insanity continue. He wouldn't let her die. He knew how terrified and alone she felt.

He probably cried for her mother. The poor thing didn't know any better. Her mother would never console her again and her sister was destined for a small coffin alongside the poor woman.

He had to get the girl back at any cost. The others in his family participated in the search. They were far too busy to notice him slip out into the night.

They had narrowed their search to several locations based off of a set of phone calls with morbid jokes the clown impersonator left behind.

The messages themselves didn't matter as much as how easy he made it to pinpoint where the calls came from.

He had made the calls back to back on opposite ends of the city multiple times. He had given them trails to follow. Bruce knew he planned this ahead.

He had to have recorded his messages prior to tonight and then sent his goons out to place the calls.

Bruce guessed he either had other hostages he hadn't mentioned or he kept his men ready to snatch more people in the night.

He made sure to scatter Bruce's family across Gotham to keep them isolated from each other. He wanted to stretch them thin in order to draw Bruce out.

Bruce promised to stay put then immediately went to work. He made sure to disconnect the forms of communication from the suit he wore.

He didn't need Oracle picking up on his activity. Oracle's real name was Barbara. She was the daughter of the police commissioner, a lovely woman in both intelligence and beauty.

She didn't deserve what happened to her. Joker had found where she lived and shot her one day. The bullet entered her spinal column.

She used to go out at night with Bruce under the guise of Batgirl. Joker took her mobility away. She was confined to a wheelchair now. Bruce felt like crying whenever he saw her.

She didn't blame him for what happened. He should have protected her better though. He missed fighting by her side. She made him so proud. She still remained a key force in their struggle.

She had a photogenic memory and an unmatched knack for technology. He compared her role now to old phone operators.

She stayed in the backdrop constantly checking their networks and ways to link the information to anyone in the family when they needed it.

They kept her imbedded in the interface. Bruce needed to hide from her the most. If she saw his suit connect to the network it would alarm the others no doubt.

The only way to keep her from knowing what he planned required him to go off the grid. At the current moment he was invisible to Oracle's watchful eye.

It also put him at a disadvantage though. He couldn't call for assistance. He weighed the options. The girl needed him. He couldn't help her if he couldn't walk out the door.

He also didn't take the Batmobile (he was never too good at naming his gadgets) or any other crazy self-built mode of transportation.

He decided to drive one of the several unknown cars he kept for stealth missions. His family didn't know about them. These tacky cars were unregistered with plates tracing back to no one.

As long as he kept his DNA out of them they had no way to link them to his estate. Bruce thought of everything in advance.

He was almost hyper intelligent from years of plans and preparation. He always tried to account for the unknown. He had to keep one step ahead. He didn't have any superpowers whatsoever.

To compensate his lack of physical capabilities he worked his mind. He fought with his brain first and fists second. He had many admirers in the alien and superhuman worlds.

Although Bruce wouldn't admit their connection aloud Clark valued him most. Clark was one of the aliens who looked like a man and had godlike abilities.

They called him Superman for a reason. He was opposite to Bruce. He had a body that would never betray him. Clark would outlive Bruce and several generations after him.

He was this perfect being and he treated Bruce as his equal. They were friends and if Bruce gave him the chance it would turn into something more.

Clark had an easy time expressing his emotions. He initiated most of the more intimate encounters they had over the years.

Bruce enjoyed it though he didn't let Clark know to what extent. After his injury Bruce pushed him away. He set out to hurt Clark specifically to keep him in Metropolis.

Most of it came from embarrassment. He didn't want Clark seeing him get soft. He hated the idea of Clark not viewing him as an equal anymore.

So he pushed and hurt his friend to protect his pride. He knew what Clark would do in this moment if he was here with Bruce.

He'd do a once over on his body and see how much it hurt. He'd shield Bruce behind him while he ended the fighting as quickly as possible.

Then against Bruce's will he'd carry him home when they were done. Bruce didn't want to be and old man to Clark which was inevitable.

He'd rather never see him again if it's what it took to have some dignity. Bruce went to reach for something in his utility belt he kept on him at all times.

"Ah ah ah no reaching for anything in your little belt!"

The voice addressing him made Bruce's skin crawl. Bruce looked up. The man who brought him here leaned over a railing.

A series of stairways lead to the upper levels where the offices were often found in these types of structures. The lights suddenly grew brighter.

Bruce realized they put him under a spotlight of some kind. Men began popping out of the woodwork. They sprang from behind several large pallets of crates and various machinery.

Some galloped down full speed from the stairs running past Joker in the process.

They brandished weapons. A few had guns while the others chose to carry items more suitable for bludgeoning a man. They surrounded Bruce. Bruce already knew about them.

He wasn't surprised at their numbers. The warehouse was uncharacteristically dim when he entered it. He turned on the heat tracker in his cowl which revealed to him the ambush they set.

The guy he took out was supposed to be bait. He went for the bait on purpose, easier to get Joker to come out of hiding than try to search for him in the dark.

The girl and possible others had no more time. Bruce wanted to get to the source of the problem. Joker walked down the stairs. Bruce didn't take his eyes off the mutilated man.

The psychopath didn't tear his frightening gaze off Bruce either. His henchmen kept a distance from Batman. They were instructed to not get close unless otherwise told.

None of them wanted to get in the middle if they didn't have to. They knew what Joker was capable of. They also knew Batman was an easy trigger for a violent outburst from him.

"Oh my little bat. You're looking, well…kinda like shit."

Bruce's lips formed a half smile. The irony was not lost on him. "I could say the same. Where's the girl? What have you done with her?"

His nemeses released a cackle. "Oh she's around. Let's say my boys are keeping a good watch over her. Don't do anything hasty now. She could die at any moment. Ah but enough about her. This is our time. I'm glad you're here. You know I was worried about you. Tell me what kept you so occupied you couldn't spare little old me some time?"

Batman shrugged but said nothing. The psychopath was on edge. After years fighting him the hero knew most of his behavior and how he acted when he felt certain ways.

He could tell when Joker stopped messing around, and when Joker stopped making light of a topic Batman needed to keep guard.

Joker was volatile, unpredictable and dangerous when he played his games. When he put the gags aside it got so much worse.

When Joker stopped laughing even Bruce had a hard time predicting the man's moves. This was one of those impulsive moments. He could heard the humor ebb in the man's voice.

He had to bide his time for now. He would get his chance. He needed be patient. The best way to handle this situation was to let Joker do the talking.

He always had plenty to say. He loved to fill the void with his voice.

"Always giving me the silent treatment. You would think after all these years you might have something to talk about. How about you try an apology? No I'm not kidding. You had me scared to death! I started to believe in those nasty rumors you know! I thought for a moment you might have actually died! Do you have any idea what I was going through? I think you owe me that much at least for your deception."

Joker hit the ground. He made his way close to Batman. They stood only about six feet apart now. Under the fluorescent light the man seemed to glow.

His intense green eyes were the brightest thing on him, they shimmered. "How come I always have to tell you what I'm up to? It's not fair if you ask me."

Joker's voice was a mix of high squeals and raspy growls. He had a current battle of emotions raging inside him. The high pitch in his voice reflected his childlike fear.

The low growls displayed his anger. He didn't know if he wanted to be relieved or pissed at the hero. Bruce figured the latter emotion would win.

"Let the girl go. This is a pissing battle between us. It doesn't concern her. You've already destroyed her family haven't you done enough?" Joker remained out of arm's reach.

He knew his beloved would try to snatch him up before he could blink. He pulled a gun out from behind him where he tucked into his pants moments before he turned on the lights.

He aimed at his rival's head. "Oh you of all people should know that I could always do a little more. Tell you what Bats, I'll let her go if you tell me what you've been up to for almost an entire year. You let a lot of people die you know. You're little family can't live up to your name. Oh they try but they're just not you. They still have a long way to go before they can fill your big shoes."

Batman clenched both of his fists. He wanted to go over there and deck the clown in what was left of his face.

"I'm not playing around. Let her go. Your fight is with me. She's done nothing to you, not that you care. I'll let you get a free hit to my face my treat."

Joker's grotesque head tilted sideways. His rotten face slid a little out of position. Bruce compared it to an abstract painting.

His face was a mixture of different shapes only the characters were melting. Those sharp green eyes didn't go like the rest of him. They remained bright and as aware as possible for Joker.

Bruce saw Joker sense his hesitation. Joker had come to learn the subtle ques of his emotional scale as well. He didn't want the psychopath to learn about his injury.

This huge amount of time spent together in their strange relationship had fined tuned each of them to one another.

Bruce knew for the most part when Joker was lying and Joker unfortunately guessed most of the time when he lied as well.

Better to avoid the question until he could think of a good plan. Bruce inhaled sharply.

His fucking back had begun to act up and it honestly surprised him.

He intravenously took his own concoction of pain medicine for this night into the afflicted area. It had a good mix of adrenaline to keep him from getting tired.

He wanted to dull his nerve signals. It had worked. It had dampened the pain enough for him to manage this break in. His body had adapted to medication more than he realized.

Of course it would start acting up now when he needed clarity the most. He attempted to keep a straight face. He couldn't show weakness. Joker preyed on it.

"Hey Bats." Joker began. It came out sounding as if he said a nonsense sound. The man didn't have lips, he couldn't pronounce words containing the letter b in them.

Bruce didn't notice the unconscious shift of his weight to his left side. The bullet was lodged in his lower right so it hurt him more to put pressure on his bad side.

Joker picked up on the movement. Despite Batman's stoic frown he could tell something else was going on with his beloved.

He first observed something off when Batman fought earlier. He watched through the office window during the fight. The man didn't move nearly as fast as he did two years ago.

Yes his movement still had precision. It lacked the finesse he always seemed to have. Joker also observed how his precious bat double checked himself during the battle.

It almost floored him. He had never done it before.

"You're ignoring my question. I might be a clown but I'm no fool. I'll make this simple. Tell me or…"

Joker pulled out a bomb detonator from his jacket. The little device was no bigger than a thick marker. It had a painted red button on the top where he rested his thumb.

"I'll blow us all up. We'll all die."

The men surrounding the pair looked at each other. The various frowns and worried grunts littered the area.

Bruce spoke to them directly. "You expected anything else?"

Joker approached him now. He felt more confident with the upper hand. Batman wouldn't try to grab him for fear of his eager thumb pushing the button. He circled the hero.

Bruce followed him. He half turned his body so he could continue to keep eye contact.

"You know I'll do it!" Joker shrieked.

The change Bruce waited for had come. Joker's thin patience was gone. He had started to throw a tantrum like a spoiled child. He circled back to standing before Batman.

"I deserve an answer damnit! I was so worried about you!"

"The girl, where is she? I know you've got a bigger plan tonight than keeping her. You made it too easy to find you."

Joker circled his thumb over the button on his detonator. He delighted watching Batman flinch.

"You know I wanted to draw you out and find me. I also didn't want those annoying pests you call family getting in the way of our time so I spread them thin. Did you promise them you wouldn't get involved or have you planned something big yourself?"

The look in those haunting green eyes spoke volumes. Joker almost pushed the button then.

"I grew bored with you." Bruce lied.

It got Joker to let a few giggles escape his vocal cords. "I appreciate your attempt at humor handsome. I'm sorry I left you know. I had some issues I needed to work through. I went to this retreat. They had some killer relaxation therapy. Maybe you wanted to make me worry like I did to you. I never thought of it like that until now."

Bruce sighed. He had his fill of this years ago. This banter between them grated on his nerves at the moment. Perhaps he did feel bored, at least about this topic.

Joker almost lowered his weapon out of shock. The look that passed over his beloved was something he never expected to see.

Batman let his guard down for a moment and he got to observe the exhausted person underneath the mask. It hit him then how old they were. He held his arms open to Batman.

"Come over here and give me a hug."

"What?" Bruce asked. He didn't expect this response.

"You heard me. If you give me a hug you can have the child. We haven't seen you in so long. I've missed you so much. I want one little hug. You can spare it can't you? It's just a hug."

The request terrified Bruce. He had plenty of physical contact with the psychopath before. Those times involved fighting. They kicked and clawed at one another until both bled.

Joker was the one who started touching Bruce more personally during the fights. He enjoyed running his flattened palms across the polymer of his chest plate.

Bruce assumed he used it as a method to throw him off guard. His nemeses had never requested such an intimate gesture before.

His adrenaline fueled heart couldn't handle the ache Joker's bargain caused him. His body's reaction scared him more than the invitation itself.

Bruce asked "Why? Are you going to stab me in the back?"

"Well I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind. Believe it or not old friend. I want a hug, not any hug mind you; I want a special hug from a special bat. I need to make sure you're really standing there. I'm starting to think I'm imaging you right now. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish fantasy from reality. It's something you wouldn't understand seeing as you've done such a good job combining the two in your life. For me though, it's hard. I've imagined you before. It wouldn't surprise me if I did it again."

Batman stepped closer to Joker. "What makes you think I won't put you in a headlock instead?"

"Cause I have a few other places rigged to blow. You put me down and I won't get to radio the men I put there to stop it in time."

They only had a few feet between their bodies now. The foul stench around Joker wafted into Bruce's nose. How could he choose to live like this?

"Oh come on darling don't make such a sour face. It doesn't suit you-well ok it sort of does-but it hurts my feelings."

Batman held out his arms to Joker. Before he could react the clown closed the remaining gap. He tucked his arms underneath the hero's armpits.

He pulled them dangerously close to one another. He forced Bruce to wrap his arms around his shoulders. The psychopath crushed himself into Bruce.

Batman got a face full of the sharp aroma. He managed to ignore it. Bruce tried to pull away after a few seconds. Joker had other plans.

He held fast which made his beloved stop struggling against him. He moved his hands down Bruce's waist. He touched over the injury location and squeezed both hands.

The suit at least provided a barrier between his ministrations and Bruce's shame.

"They can't hear us now. I know what happened. You've had an accident of some kind. It hurts I can tell. I'm mad at who injured you Bats. It's my exclusive right to take you out."

Joker's warm breath tickled against the thin cloth of the hero's cowl directly over his ear.

"I don't understand you. You act like were a couple of lost lovers finding each other again when the truth is so far from that idea. Maybe you're making fun of me somehow. Maybe you have no idea what you're saying. Either way it doesn't matter. You know we can't get along. We both refuse to change. As long as we continue doing what we do we will never get close. I doubt it's possible for me to forgive you for the suffering you've caused. I think it's you'll never forgive me for making you the way you are. It's a vicious circle." Bruce had wanted to say those words for a long time.

Why did the confession spill from him now? He guessed he wanted to try one last time to rationalize the odd relationship he shared.

A part of him still wanted to atone for what he did to the man holding him. Bruce at his core felt sorry for the both of them.

If he could turn back time he would have prevented Joker from falling in the chemicals. Bruce was young and stupid back then.

He made numerous mistakes as he ironed out his new personality. His naivety cost an incalculable amount of lives.

He wished he knew the man would survive the fall. As much good as Batman did Joker's existence undermined his work. He made it an explicit point to do so.

Batman didn't kill him because of his morals. He couldn't destroy his great mistake. They were certain to die in this dark pit he created.

"Don't tell me what I feel and don't feel." Joker pressed his face closer to the spot where his beloved's ear hid. "You of all people; the man whose duality makes Harvey Dent weep with envy should know better. You're so backwards darling you're walking straight. You're putting on a mental band aid so you don't have to look at the wound. It would be easy if you admitted it. Oh but I almost forgot how you thrive in opposition. You live for the dramatic. You can't have it any other way. You desire a normal life so desperately. You can't have it because of this hero complex you've developed to mask your inadequacies. You hate yourself so much you block out anyone else's affection except…_me_. I'm in your head where I belong. You can't admit you're happy I exist. I'm the only one who would never judge you or think you're gross for having faults. If you can't admit it I'll say it for you. You love me as much as I love you. How's that for some real talk?"

Batman started to push the psychopath away. He didn't want to listen to it anymore. He was foolish to try and reach the man.

"Bats!" The freak yelled. Joker caught Bruce off guard. Joker shoved his body forward. Both men went toppled to the ground.

They landed with Batman flat on his back with his rival sprawled on top of him. His back almost gave way. He tried to struggle to get the psychopath off of him.

A bullet grazed over the pair and struck once of Joker's men across the way. Joker got to his feet quickly. He reshaped his skin mask across his face. The movement made it twist sideways.

"Harley you're being a bad girl." He seethed to the woman who fired the round.

Bruce attempted to get up on his own. His back seized on him. He managed to get to his knees before he collapsed again on the ground. The pain was unbelievable.

It consumed his thoughts. His nerves were on fire. A groan escaped his lips. His right hand touched where it hurt. His left hand curled into a fist.

He spread out on the ground behind Joker. He forgot where he was for a moment. Joker used his body to protect Bruce from Harley's aim.

"You're so selfish and mean. You won't let either of us go." Harley's light girlish voice filled the warehouse. They mixed with Bruce's moans and the man who she shot.

Bruce got to his knees. He wiped at the drool from the corner of his mouth. He stared at Harley Harley real name was Harleen Quintzel. She was a beautiful woman Joker chose to poison.

She used to be his psychiatrist at the asylum. Her knowledge went to waste on the psychopath. He didn't appreciate her the way she deserved.

It made Batman sick when he thought about Harley. Joker took an innocent woman and molded her into a killer.

Part of him felt Joker did have some affinity for her despite how often he beat her and called her names. He ultimately chose to keep her as proof of his ideals.

Harley was once a high profile criminal psychologist.

She had thoroughly studied the intricacies of a warped mind yet she succumbed to Joker's will and he paraded her around for the world to see.

As Bruce observed her now he knew Harley had a limited amount of time. The skeleton she'd become hurt to look at.

Her once lively blue eyes, blond hair and curvaceous body were gone. She was a shell from what Batman remembered. She had faded. Her eyes were gray now.

There were two large dark stress circles under them as well in the middle of her hollow cheeks. Her blond hair was dyed black at some point. It hadn't been touched in a long time.

She wasn't actually a natural blonde so the hair color at her roots were brown instead. It hung flat and unwashed across her shoulders.

She had no makeup on. Her feet were bare. She wore a pair of gray mesh shorts and a black camisole with no bra. Her breasts had shriveled with the rest of her.

They didn't need the support at the moment. She had long scratches and bruises littering her pale flesh. There were two IV ports in both her forearms.

She had blood stains from where she pulled the tubing out. She looked like a paper doll. A light gust of wind would take her away. She kept the barrel of the gun aimed at him.

"Quit acting like a brat Harley. What do you think you're doing? Go back to bed. You aren't well my dear." Joker aimed his weapon at her.

Bruce punched Joker hard in his left kidney. He used the momentary distraction to his advantage. He ran on his will alone. He reached for the detonator.

"Come on Bats stop it!" Joker rounded on Bruce. Harley screamed when Nightwing descended on her.

He lifted her emaciated frame into the air and he kicked the gun away when she dropped it.

Red Robin appeared next out of the dark. He struck one of the men who went for Nightwing. He karate chopped into the crook of the man's neck.

"What are you two doing here?" Joker screamed. "You're ruining my time with Bats! This doesn't involve you!"

Joker elbowed Bruce in the chest. Bruce rammed his head into the back of Joker's skull. He grabbed Joker's hand and fought with him for control of the detonator.

"Drop the weapons!" Nightwing commanded.

"There are cops all over this place none of you are escaping!" Red Robin finished.

Joker ignored the kids. He dropped his gun so he could use his hand to help pry Bruce's fingers off him. "Maybe I should steal you Bats. As long as they draw breath they will always get in the way. They always have to come between us."

Bruce snarled at him. "Haven't you tried this before? How well did it work out for you last time?"

"Why would staying with me be such a bad thing? I don't think you get how wonderful my companionship is! You can ask Harley!"

Joker kicked Bruce. When he did this Bruce lost consciousness. When Bruce repositioned to get away from his legs the pain from the exertion hit its plateau. Joker pressed the detonator button.

BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS

Oh shit!

There be bombs and shit!

Sidenote-I am a dumb person and having to think up plausible Batman smarty farty detective scenarios is hard because I am so stupid.

There's so much plot its ridankulous…but its hard cause I don't want it to be pwp but I want the sexy in it…sigh…


End file.
